


Stay

by SweetDevilMePlease



Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Chris Hemsworth/Tom Hiddleston, M/M, Near Death Experiences, OTP Feels, distressed Chris Hemsworth, injured Tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2193042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetDevilMePlease/pseuds/SweetDevilMePlease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Tom getting hit by a truck for Chris to get over himself and realized that he's nothing without him, and that all Chris really wants is Tom to...stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

I was listening to [Stay](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-950GMxVysY) by Mayday Parade for a few days and decided to write something while listening to it. This happened. I hope you guys like it.

* * *

 Chris brushed long strands of his hair behind his ear. He watched the paramedic insert IV's into Tom's fractured arm. He sat back out the way to allow the men to do their job. He stayed quiet, tried to stay calm. He repeated those two words over and over in his head, but it didn't work. His heart rate was high, eyes bloodshot and tear stained. When he exhaled, he could smell the Bourbon he'd been drinking. He was in the most unutterably horrible condition ever. He was light headed, taking in oxygen he didn't need. He was a wreck, on the verge of a panic attack. One of the paramedics turned their attention from Tom and focus on Chris, making him take deep breaths to alleviate the possibilities of an attack. Once the large blonde was calm...er....attention was turned back to a slightly moaning Tom. Chris though back to earlier, all events that lead up to him sitting in the back of an ambulance with Tom slipping further and further into unconsciousness. 

* * *

 

**_Three Days Ago...._ **

_Tom picked up his favorite hard copy of 'The Fault in our Stars' by John Green. He gripped it tightly before he finally flung it at the large idiot, hitting Chris directly in the head. He threw it hard enough that left a gash right underneath his left eyes. He picked up another, much thicker book: Stephanie Meyer's 'Breaking Dawn'. It missed it's initial target. He just kept throwing books at Chris until the stack he was standing beside had dwindled to nothing._

_"I've had enough of this shit, Chris!" he screamed at the blonde, grabbing the iron off the ironing board. Chris didn't see it coming, and it hit him in the head, causing him to stumble and fall. "I'm thirty-fucking-five, Chris! I have been a prisoner in this house for five fucking years because you think I'm so fragile! I put up with it because I love you, but I can't stay any more!"_

_Tom gripped the ironing board. Chris though he was going to throw that at him too. He braced himself, just in case. Tom released his grip, grabbing his backpack and packing up some of the clothes lying in the floor he'd thrown during the heat of his anger and frustration. He stuffed them in his bag, whether they were his or Chris'--it didn't matter. He picked up 'The Fault in out Stars' and shoved it in his bag as well. He picked up his wallet and turned to leave. Without a word, he exited their shared apartment, slamming the door shut._

_Chris got up, kicking one of the books hard across the living room, watching out the window as Tom crossed the street  and kept going without a single glance back. He kept watching until he could no longer see the brunette. He looked around at the mess and just dropped, mouth opening and closing several times._

_...._

_**Two Days Ago...** _

_Chris awoke to the happy sounds of the birds outside. They chirped loudly, and it made Chris' head hurt. The light blinded him. The outside world seemed to joyous, too happy. He tried to stand, but even that was an impossible task for him to manage. He was dizzy and on the verge of passing out from trying to take things too fast. He collapsed back down where he'd been folded up on the floor in an uncomfortable position. He was surrounded by beer bottles and cans. No wonder he felt like absolute shit. Once again, he tried to stand. He limped and stumbled his way to the bathroom, knocking on it instinctively. Tom always took early morning showers. It took him five minutes to realize the water was running, the door was wide open, and Tom was no longer in the house._

_Oh, that's right...._

_He stumbled into the bathroom, clipping his side on the edge of the counter. Grunting, he slammed the door shut. He lifted up his shirt, looking in the mirror. He didn't cut himself or anything. It was just extremely red already. He took a piss, groaning as his manhood throbbed a bit. Tom had threw the heaviest dictionary they owned at him, and it had landed full weight between his legs after he'd fallen. He hadn't even noticed the bits of colored glass stuck in his arms until the light caught them just right. He brushed them off onto the counter, and then he swept them into the trashcan beside the toilet. He could have sworn he just brushed an entire beer bottle off his arm. He blinked rapidly. He was so out of it, he couldn't even process his own stupidity._

_He turned on the shower, cold, stripped his beer stained white t-shirt and his pants and boxers, stepping under the cold stream of water. He went to stick his head underneath the stream when he remembered that his hair was in a messy bun. He jerked the hair tie out with unnecessary roughness and chucked it out onto the sink. He stuck his head underneath the water, shivering lightly, hoping it would wake him up, sober him up some, just enough to call Tom and check on him. He scrubbed dried blood off, yelping every once in a while when he found a new bruise in the shape of a book.  He squeezed his hair out and turned the water off. He got out, dried off, and headed to the one bedroom. He picked up his phone off the charger. He had a missed call. Hoping it was from Tom, he unlocked it and pulled up the miss call, sighing when it was only from his mother. He pulled up Tom's contact, crossing his fingers that he'd answer._

_"Tommy here can't pick up the phone 'cause he's busy doing stuff. Call him back later, maybe he won't be busy then!" came his own voice, followed by Tom's muffled complaining. Well at least it was good to know he hadn't bothered to change his voicemail. "Tom, it's Chris. I'm just checking up on you. I'm sorry I was so protective over you. I'm sorry I drove you to the point of leaving. Tommy, I love you. Please come back home to me."  
_

_Chris hung up. He tossed his phone on the bed, throwing on a pair of boxers and sweatpants. He put his phone in his pocket just in case Tom called. He went to the kitchen, opening up the cabinet with their alcohol stash, taking down one of the many bottles of Bourbon. He took the bottle to the living room, setting it down only to pick up the beer bottles and cans and throw them away. He sat down on the couch, and he drank straight from the bottle, waiting, waiting for Tom to call or come home._

**_One Hour Earlier_ **

_Tom bared his teeth as he stared at the door of his and Chris' apartment. He was damp and cold, but otherwise, a happy man, having finally gotten out and seen the town without Chris glued to his hip. He walked up to the stoop, before approaching the door. He gave the knob a test turn to see if it were unlocked. It was. He opened door, and the heavy smell of booze slapped him hard. Had the big idiot have a party while he was gone? He stepped in and closed the door. Wait-- was there a hint of weed? Chris was asleep on the couch, and empty bottle of Bourbon by his foot and an almost empty one in his right hand. A joint was between his forefinger and middle finger on his left. There was a trash bag off to the side full of beer bottles and cans. The brunette ran his fingers through his curls. One look around, and Tom understood._

_He stepped over books, the iron, and the ironing board to get to Chris. He took the bottle from his hand and sat it on the coffee table. He took the joint, sitting it beside the bottle. He gently shook Chris. There was no telling how long he'd been asleep. The blonde jumped from the couch, jerking awake. His eyes were moist and red, probably the effect from the weed._

_"T-Tom?" he croaked out, reaching up to rub his eyes._

_Wet, slender fingers grabbed his chin. Green eyes examined him, every inch of him. "Damn, you're a mess."_

_Chris closed his eyes. "You make me a mess."_

_Tom let go of him and took a step back. "You made yourself a mess."_

_"You left."_

_"You drove me away."_

_Chris groaned. His head pounded something serious. Tom scoffed. He capped the Bourbon and put it up, throwing the joint away. "You could have cleaned up around him."_

_"I'm sorry," Chris said, somewhat bitter, as he rubbed his temples. "I was too busy making a mess of myself to clean up the books you threw at me."_

_Tom crossed his arms and frowned. "What with the tone?"_

_"I'm_   ** _hungover._** _You know how I get after I drink. Don't act like you're not used to it." Chris struggled to his feet. "If you're just going to complain about how the apartment's a wreck and I smell like booze and shit like that, you might as well just leave again. I'm not in the mood for that shit."_

_Tom sighed. "I thought you would be the least bit_ **_greatful_ ** _for me being back."_

_"Oh, I am. I see you're fine. I'm glad your home. I've been hoping you'd come home," Chris' voice didn't sound like he meant it, though his heart did._

_Tom muttered a whatever and turned to leave again, not even bothering to close the door. Chris scoffed and rubbed his face with his hands. He was about to go get his extra strength aspirin when the sound of a horn and scream echoed in his ears. He went to the door just as Tom his the ground hard, and he didn't move. All signs of his hangover were gone in seconds as he sprinted out the house to Tom's side. He looked around, seeing a truck keep driving, but he did catch the license plate number. He dropped to his knees. Shaky fingers searched for a pulse. He found one, thank God. He pulled out his cell and dialed 911. It was going to be at least half and hour before an ambulance would arrive. Chris carefully picked a groaning Tom out of the road and laid him on the grass in front of their apartment._

_"Tom, stay away. Stay with me!"_

_Tom started gasping, panicking from the sudden pain flooding through his body. Chris tried to get Tom to stay calm, but it didn't work. He ended up making himself pass out from a panic attack. Chris didn't move a single muscle until the ambulance arrived. He stepped back to allow them room to carefully handle Tom. Chris gripped his wiry hair. Once they had him loaded up, he dived in._

* * *

Chris hadn't even realized that one of the paramedics had been trying to get information out of him.

"What's your relationship with him?" he asked in a rather annoyed but urgent voice.

"Husband," Chris said solemnly. 

"Have you been drinking, sir?"

"I have been."

Slow beeping caught Chris' attention. He looked up to see the heart monitor Tom was connected to wasn't beeping as often as it was earlier.  _Oh, no...Oh, no, no, no..._ The beeping stopped, the monitor flat lined.

"No!" Chris exclaimed, lurching forward, but one of men caught him and slammed him back down on his rear end, pinning him down. "Tommy!" Tears he tired to hold back earlier were released. "Tommy, don't leave me!"

"Hold him back!" yelled the other man, preparing to shock Tom's heart back to life.

Chris was held back by straining muscles. He bit back cries every time he was shocked. "Tom, I love you!" 

Tom was shocked a fourth time. The hear monitor sputtered and beeped at pace of ninety-nine beats per minute. It slowly declined to a steady eighty beats. Chris gasped and smiled in between sobs. After a while, Tom's green eyes opened, blinked several times, and looked around, focusing on the crying Chris beside him, the paramedic still holding him in a vice grip. Tom's long, slender fingers twitched and moved out towards the blonde's knees. Chris was released, and he reached out to take his small, more feminine hand in his strong, large on. He brought it to dry, chapped lips, kissing it, before pressing it to his forehead.

"Don't leave me, Tom... I need you." He kissed his hand again.

Tom smiled behind the oxygen mask, interlacing their fingers together, mouthing,  _I love you, you idiot._

 


End file.
